Doorways chapters 1 and 2
by Lex
Summary: a sequel to Fences Part I and II (Marguerite and Roxton)
1. chapter one

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DOORWAYS, PART I _by Lex_

A sequel to 'Fences parts I and II

Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me, but to Telescene. I am just playing with them for a while. I am earning no profit from these little stories, so please don't sue me. I'm poor

This story is dedicated to Theresa – thanks so much for your thoughtful advice and encouraging comments. L.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It was late, too late for him to still be awake, but Roxton found himself unable to sleep. He turned onto his left side, then flipped onto his back, then impatiently back to his right side. He concentrated on clearing his mind but it was useless. The images of Marguerite, sultry and exciting, which were haunting him would not be exorcised. He visualized the swan-like neck, so recently caressed by his hungry lips, the half-closed eyes and sex-drugged expression on her face as she sucked each finger on his hand into her mouth, and then slowly kissed his palm and his wrist. Oh, God. 'This is ridiculous,' he thought, in desperation. 'Why can't we be together tonight?' Summerlee had positively beamed at the two of them when they had returned to the treehouse this morning at dawn, both soaken-wet from their encounter at the pond, unable to look away from each other. Veronica and Malone would have no objection, and Challenger, so intent on his experiments, would probably never even notice. And it wasn't as if he and Marguerite had a viable alternative; there was no priest around the corner to give them the blessing of marriage. Otherwise, Roxton would marry her in a minute. He pictured Marguerite, stunning in a white veil, walking toward him; then he pictured himself lifting that veil and kissing her mouth. He shivered as desire coursed through him.

That did it. With a curse, he slipped out of bed and walked silently into the little room where Marguerite slept. He was a bit nonplussed to see her slumbering peacefully, when he had been kept awake by thoughts of her, but, after all, he was a man, and men were more subject to that sort of thing. Anyway, she looked like an angel, in her lacy white camisole, her hair soft about her shoulders, and both hands tucked under her smooth cheek. 'Angel?' He considered fondly that perhaps there was no more inappropriate description and rubbed his jaw, still quite sore, where she had punched him. Recalling her passionate apology made him remember why he had come to her room now; he grinned and got into bed beside her.

Marguerite's eyes flew open and she gasped in surprise. "Sh, sh," he whispered frantically. "Don't scream, it's me."

"Roxton," she hissed at him, inexplicably pulling the sheet up to her neck. "What are you doing here? You'll wake everyone else up!"

"I'll be quiet, if you will. Besides, Marguerite, I … I just wanted to be with you."

The fierce look left her face and she smiled warmly at him – a genuine, sunny smile, and Roxton was enchanted. "You're beautiful," he whispered and kissed her, hard. Her hands crept up around his neck. His breathing quickened as her mouth opened under his; his impatient hands pushed the camisole's straps off her shoulders, and the rest of the garment below her breasts. Soon his mouth followed the path his hands had blazed. His ear was over her rapidly-beating heart, its pounding evidence of her arousal. Marguerite was pulling imperiously at his hand, directing him to where she wanted him to touch her, and bit her lip to stifle a moan as Roxton obeyed, and reached down to roughly stroke her between her legs.

He was literally shaking with wanting her, but he took a moment to prop himself up on his elbows above her, so he could savor the beguiling picture she presented. Her face was flushed, she was actually biting her own hand to keep from crying out, and her eyes, well … he could swear it would be possible to dive right into them. He stared, transfixed. Until …

"Roxton! Don't take all night!" panted Marguerite.

Roxton looked smug, inordinately pleased that he was able to stir such passion in her. "Patience is a virtue, Marguerite … OW! HEY!!"

"Oh, shut up, and come here, Roxton!"

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Afterwards, Marguerite lay curled up next to Roxton, purring contentedly in the circle of his arms. He kissed her hair, her shoulder, nipped at her ear. "I meant what I said, you know … you are very beautiful. You remind me of a poem:

' _She walks in beauty, like the night_

Of cloudless climes and starry skies,

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meets in her aspect and her eyes,

Thus mellow'd to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less

Had half impair'd the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress

Or softly lightens o'er her face …'*

She lay rapt, listening to his low voice.

He paused. "I have to stop here."

"Why? Did you forget the rest?"

"Ah hah – so that wasn't enough praise for you, princess? You need to hear _more_? No, I'm stopping because the rest speaks about '_a mind at peace with all below, / A heart whose love is innocent,_' he jested.

She looked at him strangely. "Don't you believe my heart is innocent, John?" Her voice was quiet.

Suddenly serious, he took her face tenderly between his hands. "I truly hope so, Marguerite. Because if I ever found out that this was nothing more than a game to you, it would break my heart."

There was a tense silence. Then Marguerite kissed him sweetly on the cheek and whispered, "You had better go back to your room now, John. I'll see you in the morning."

Marguerite lay awake for a long while after Roxton left her. She felt like she was about to shatter into a million fragments. She no longer had any but the smallest doubts that her lover was sincere in his affections for her, just the opposite. The strength of his feelings, now that they had been unleashed, frankly terrified her, and she did not like to be terrified by anything. She preferred to always be in control – it was necessary for survival. And she was beginning to realize that Roxton was not a man whom she could control. The more he loved her, the more he would expect from her. But then, he couldn't _possibly_ know her, couldn't _possibly_ expect her to live up to the standards of his love; she could never do it. She was the world to this man, and he would not reject her lightly, but when he did – and it was inevitable that he would, when he came to learn all about her, to know her through and through – it would devastate him. And she, she would lose the most valuable gift she had ever been offered. But was it a gift she really wanted to keep? When sleep finally claimed her, she was no closer to reconciling all the thoughts echoing in her brain.

The next morning, Roxton sauntered, whistling, into the common room. "Good morning!" he said heartily. Summerlee smiled back at him, delighted. A young man happy in love was a pleasure to see. "Good morning, my boy."

"You seem pretty lively this morning, Roxton," remarked Malone. "You must have had a good night's sleep."

"A good night's … uh, yes, yes, I did indeed," chuckled Roxton. Still whistling, off-key, he let himself down the elevator, on his way to fill a load of water containers. 

Veronica looked suspiciously after him. "Hmmmm …"

"What is it?"

"Well, if I didn't know better, I'd say…"

She was interrupted by Marguerite's entrance; she looked pale and tired, and sat down at the table without saying anything. 

"You'd say what, Veronica?" queried Malone, who was not a master of tact.

"I can't remember," the blonde said shortly, signaling to Ned to be quiet.

"You were going to tell us why you thought Roxton seemed so happy this morning. Is there some good news we all should know?" Ned chattered on, oblivious to the awkward silence.

"I don't know, maybe he found a new way to play with his guns or something," mumbled Veronica hurriedly. "Come on, Malone, let's get going. We promised Challenger we'd bring those rocks to the lab and he's waiting."

"OK, I'm on my way."

Summerlee bade them goodbye, and then turned to look, disturbed, at Marguerite. She was certainly not glowing with good spirits as Roxton had been. Her eyes remained downcast, hidden by her lashes, as she picked fitfully at the slices of fruit in front of her. The professor gazed at her drawn face with compassion. 'Poor girl,' he thought. 'She has been dealt a hard hand.' He felt very protective of Marguerite, almost like a father, difficult and selfish though she could be. He was in fact rather angry with her true parents, who had virtually abandoned her as a very young child to a succession of strict convent schools. They had done untold damage by their neglect, damage that had only been added to over the years. Now Roxton was lovingly offering her a chance at a new life. But this lady was not easily won, the harm not easily repaired. Summerlee was afraid that, without his own assistance, Roxton's open and whole-hearted invitation might be withdrawn in injured pride, if met by Marguerite's defensive tactics.

Summerlee sat down next to her. "My dear," he said gently, and then, as she started to rise, covered her tapering fingers with his own. "May I help with whatever it is that is bothering you, that is clouding those pretty eyes?" 

At the tenderness in his voice, Marguerite felt the knot in her chest, which had been tightening inexorably ever since Roxton's departure from her room last night, melt away. Appalled at her own weakness, but unable to help herself, she burst into tears.

"Oh, my. Oh, my dear girl." Summerlee fussed and dabbed futilely with his handkerchief at her copious tears. "Oh, my." At this, Marguerite broke into absolutely heart-wrenching sobs, which wracked her whole body, and Summerlee gave into his paternal instincts. He drew her onto his shoulder and wrapped her in his supporting arms. He patted her long hair and whispered, "there, there," and other inanities, until her sobs died down to gulps, and then to sniffles. "Here – blow," he suggested, holding the handkerchief to her nose. She did so, and then gave him a watery, tentative little smile. "Do you feel better now, my dear?" he asked kindly.

Marguerite, to her surprise, realized that she did indeed feel a bit better. She nodded, but kept her head on his shoulder as she played with the lapel on his linen jacket, which was now stained with her tears. She felt that she would like to stay there forever, far from all the decisions and choices pressing in on her, threatening the self-sufficiency on which she prided herself, and the new demands they brought to her life. Perhaps, if her father had cared, this is what he would have done for her. It felt … nice, she decided.

"Now, my dear. Please tell me what the trouble is. Is it … is it Roxton?" he ventured hesitantly.

Marguerite, startled, looked up at him. "Why would it have anything to do with _him_?" she flared defensively. But Summerlee's genial eyes made her ashamed to lie to him, so she nodded reluctantly. Then, again, mortifyingly out of control, she let all the doubts and fears that had been tormenting her spill out.

  
Summerlee listened gravely. When he was sure she was finished, he shook his head and said mildly, "I am sure that you do both yourself and Roxton an injustice, my dear. Neither one of you is as shallow … oh, Roxton! Hello!"

Roxton, still whistling, still off-key, approached them, hands in his pockets. Seeing Summerlee's arm draped around Marguerite's shoulder, he winked roguishly at the older man. "What's this, Summerlee? Stealing my girl?"

Summerlee smiled in spite of his concern. Roxton was like a new man. The burden of guilt which had sometimes seemed to add years to his age, and made him quick to anger, had apparently vanished, although Summerlee knew that something as drastic as that did not happen overnight. But for now, Roxton's wide grin was infectious, and Summerlee could not help but return it in full. "An old man like myself wouldn't provide much competition, I'm afraid! Otherwise, I just might try my luck! Now, come on both of you … we all have work to do." Whatever problems were going to obstruct the relationship between Marguerite and Roxton would have to be dealt with at a future time … but, Summerlee vowed, he would assist them as best he could.

TO BE CONTINUED IN PART II

* 'She Walks in Beauty' by Lord Byron (1788 – 1824)


	2. chapter two

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DOORWAYS II - _by Lex_

Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me, but to Telescene. I am just playing with them for a while. I am earning no profit from these little stories, so please don't sue me. I'm poor.

Rated R for sexual content, implied violence

Dedicated to KR, 'that obscure object of desire.'

It was after midday, and everyone was still busy at his or her assorted tasks. Roxton had not been able to steal a moment alone with Marguerite since he had left her room the previous night, but she had appeared in his thoughts numerous times. The image of her body beneath his, open to him, her taste in his mouth, the feel of her satin skin under his hands … all of these were a tormenting presence in his mind as he tried to concentrate on his work, but he was fighting a losing battle. At last, Roxton put down the gun he was cleaning and surrendered. He was on the point of getting up to go find Marguerite when he heard Challenger calling his name from below. He hurried to the terrace, where he saw Veronica, Challenger, and Malone letting themselves into the elevator, accompanied by a man he had never before met.

As they entered the treehouse, Roxton observed the newcomer. He was European or American, dressed in contemporary 'adventure' gear similar to Roxton's own, and looked to be in his late 40s, with a graying beard, stocky body, and thick neck. His pale eyes did not remain still for an instant; they were continuously darting from side to side, without focusing on any one object or person for any length of time. And although that could be considered natural for anyone stumbling upon a fully furnished treehouse peopled by stranded explorers in the middle of a prehistoric plateau, Roxton's keen instincts told him not to trust this man.

"Lord John Roxton, meet Mr. Edward Woods," Malone said, "another intrepid explorer who has found his way into strange territory!" The two men nodded at each other coolly as they shook hands. Roxton sensed that Mr. Woods was no more enthusiastic about meeting him than he was about meeting Mr. Woods. Malone slapped Woods on the back and continued, "Marguerite and Summerlee are right behind us, and when they arrive, Woods can tell us his story … and I'm ready for him!" he finished, brandishing one of his ever-present journals. Veronica smiled at Malone's enthusiasm but Challenger was looking skeptical.

Just then, Marguerite and Summerlee entered, carrying leather pouches filled with the herbs and medicinal plants they had spent the morning gathering. Even in the middle of the alarm signals going off in his head, Roxton broke into an involuntary smile, his eyes turning from flinty to tender, at the sight of his elegant Marguerite, and he stepped forward politely to relieve her of the leather bag and of her canteen. As he did so, he could not resist briefly caressing her arm and giving her a quick wink. All this did not go unnoticed by Woods, who stored this information away in his brain for future use, along with the woman's reaction; she looked uncomfortable, though she smiled fleetingly, and stepped away. 'Interesting,' Woods thought, and then nodded civilly as the introductions began.

When everyone was seated around the table, glasses of fruit juice in front of them, Woods commenced telling his story to the curious group. Roxton's distrust grew as more and more inconsistencies became apparent, especially regarding the fate of the man's fellow travelers, whom Woods claimed were ambushed by unfriendly natives while he himself was away from camp 'on a walk.' Woods described himself as an explorer interested in following old maps and investigating ancient legends. He had heard tales, as had Challenger, about the Lost World, but he had one addition to make: stories of the abundant gold that lay beneath the ground in a location he was sure that his careful studies had revealed.

"Gold," echoed Marguerite avidly, her eyes shining. Roxton thought uneasily that it was the first spark of life that she had shown since last night. He realized that she hadn't looked at or spoken to him directly all day. But now her face was lit up like fireworks as she listened to this oily, smooth-talking stranger spin his preposterous story about gold, her smile animated as she leaned forward intently. Roxton did not like the look of avarice in her eyes.

"Oh, yes indeed, Miss Krux. Are you interested in precious metals?"

Before Marguerite could respond, Roxton interjected, driven by his fear and uneasiness, "'Interested?' That's putting it mildly. Our Miss Krux is positively **_devoted_** to precious metals, wouldn't you agree, Marguerite? One might even say, devoted to the exclusion of all else," he added pointedly.

"Oh?" Woods raised his eyebrows. Ignoring Roxton's facetiousness and his hostile tone, he asked, "In that case, Miss Krux, perhaps you would like to see a sample?"

"Of course, if you care to show me," said Marguerite eagerly, barely allowing Woods to complete his question. Veronica shook her head knowingly at Marguerite's familiar behavior, but Roxton felt his heart sink down to his boots. Couldn't she see that this man was untrustworthy? Or had her greed blinded her to the danger?

Woods got up from the table, crossed over to the corner, opened his pack, and came back with what appeared to be a fair-sized nugget of gold. Marguerite was out of her chair in an instant. She took the object in her hand and examined it with a careful eye. Woods, with a pleased expression, moved closer to her, so close that his shoulder was touching hers, Roxton noticed, and her hair brushed his face as they studied the goddamn rock together. 

"Excuse me," Roxton forced out abruptly, and made his way angrily to the terrace, where he stood, staring blindly into the trees, and clutching the railing with both hands in an iron grip. He could hear Woods and Marguerite talking excitedly about the proposed expedition, with the others interrupting with one skeptical question after another. Roxton could not believe his ears - Woods was offering Marguerite the chance to accompany him, since she knew the area better than he did, and so to earn part of the resulting profits when they returned to London. Marguerite agreed - 'of course,' Roxton thought cynically.

"My dear, do you really think that is a good idea?" Summerlee asked hesitantly, and Malone added, "I think I should go with you, then, Marguerite; you both may need some help."

"Very well." Roxton was sure he detected a note of resentment in Woods' voice.

"I'm sure we'll be fine without you," he heard Marguerite say sharply, and Veronica respond, "What's the matter, Marguerite? Worried about someone else getting in on the profits?"

"Malone goes with you," stated Challenger firmly.

"Marguerite," called Roxton, before any more plans could be made, his eyes closed and his hands still gripping the railing. And then, receiving no response, louder: "_Marguerite_!" He heard her coming toward him and, without turning, sensed when she stood right behind him. He moved to face her, expecting an angry remark about his interference, but was touched when Marguerite, her gray eyes bewitchingly soft, laid a hand against his cheek. He covered it with his own - would this woman ever cease to surprise him? - and then brought it to his lips.

"John?"

"Look - Marguerite, I don't want you going with him … you can't go with him," Roxton blurted out, and then winced; this was _exactly_ the wrong tack to take with somebody as contrary as Marguerite. Sure enough, the expression in her eyes turned dangerous.

"Pardon me?" she said with exaggerated courtesy, removing her hand from his.

"I have a bad feeling about this joker, his story doesn't ring true."

"You're jealous," she accused him flatly.

"Jealous? You're damn right I'm jealous, only not the way you're thinking! I'm not worried that you've fallen in love with this … this idiot, and that you're running off to be with him - although it's obvious _he_ has designs on _you_. I, if anyone, should know that your affections are not so easily engaged. Unless … unless we're talking about that nugget of gold in there; in that case, I'd lose every time, wouldn't I? Whatever you feel for me is nothing compared to what you feel for that shiny rock that Woods is waving so convincingly in front of your eyes. He is **_not safe_**, Marguerite, and everyone can sense it but you, because you're so blinded by what he's promised you. Please don't agree to go with him; it's not worth it."

"_Not worth it_?! Don't be ridiculous. Roxton, did you see the size of that piece of gold? Do you know how much …"

"Dammit, Marguerite!" He swore and ran his hands through his hair in frustration. Her eyes were full of confusion as she looked up at him and he knew she just didn't understand. He made another attempt. Taking her by the shoulders, he stared intently into her eyes, trying desperately to convey the importance of his request. "Marguerite. You may not believe me when I tell you that this Woods is a bad character. I know you want very badly to find the gold he spoke about. But I 'm asking you, _because I love you and am concerned about your safety_, to refuse his offer and let him go his way alone. If he is telling the truth about himself, he will return to us before he goes back to London. I realize this is completely opposite to your will, but I'm hoping that you'll do this solely because it is what I want, and because I think you love me too. Put me first this time, Marguerite. I am telling you not to go."

"Telling me? You are _telling_ me, _Lord_ Roxton?" spat Marguerite. "I don't take orders from you, or anyone. And, as usual, you are completely wrong about me. I don't trust Woods at all - I trust nobody except myself. But gold is gold, and I want it. I can take care of myself, and I do as I please; I always have and I always will."

"You don't **_have_** to take care of yourself any longer, Marguerite!" cried Roxton. God, why couldn't she understand?! He pulled her to him, cupping her cheek with one hand, the other caressing her breast and shoulder. "I won't let anyone hurt you. I want to marry you," he ignored her startled gasp and her frantic attempts to pull away. "I would do anything to please you, to take away everything and everyone that has ever made you unhappy," - she was really struggling to escape now but he kept on, " - and as long as I live, everything I have is yours. But this is it for me, Marguerite. This isn't something that I can do halfway; it has got to be all or nothing. My darling, you have my whole heart, and I won't settle for anything less from you. You've got to trust … Jesus! You bitch!"

She had bitten his hand hard enough to draw blood. He stared in disbelief at the mark she had left and then raised his eyes to her defiant face. "You bitch," he said again, and slapped her. She didn't make a sound, just held her hand to her face and glared at him. "Go ahead," he said, his voice tight with rage, "go ahead, do whatever the hell you want … as you said, you always do." She gave him a particularly dagger-like stare, and, turning her back on him, retreated to the inner part of the treehouse. Roxton's eyes followed her, love and fury battling in his heart, and he sucked at the wound on his hand until the bleeding stopped.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

After dinner that night, from which Roxton was conspicuously absent, Summerlee approached Marguerite and quietly asked to speak to her in private. Marguerite, after having allowed Summerlee to witness a rare emotional display that morning, felt uncomfortable and vulnerable, and rudely tried to put him off, but Summerlee was insistent, and, being a perceptive and compassionate man, made no reference to their earlier encounter. 

"Well, well … this is certainly an intriguing turn of events," he remarked conversationally, when they were seated in his little room.

"'Intriguing?' That's hardly the word for it. Imagine - gold! Plenty of it! And then … finally a way out of this hellhole … with a lot of gold! It's more than intriguing, it's …"

"Is it, is it indeed?" said Summerlee absently, as if his mind was somewhere else altogether. "But does it not strike you, my dear, that Woods' story about the fate of his fellows hardly makes sense. And he seems strangely uninformed …"

"Did Roxton put you up to this?" Marguerite demanded her temper on the rise. "I am going and that's final."

"Roxton said nothing to me; it is something that we all feel. But if you insist on making the trip, Malone will accompany you. And," he said, patting her hand to make his words seem less harsh, "_that_ is _also_ final."

Marguerite sighed. She didn't know what it was about Summerlee, but he seemed to be able, without even trying, to breach her carefully-constructed defenses more easily than anyone else. She had always been so busy fending off would-be lovers who might take advantage of her money - she had _that_ down to a science - but she had never had to cope with someone treating her as a daughter before, not even her own parents. This kindly man, in his unassuming way, had managed to shatter the bars which held her weaknesses in check, and to make her admit feelings that she held to be extremely private … and actually feel better for having done so. Now, seeing the worry in his eyes, she leaned forward, and, astonishing both herself and Summerlee, kissed him gently on the cheek, whispering reassuringly, "I can take care of myself, don't worry … and … and … tell Roxton not to worry either," and she slipped silently out of the room.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Marguerite, Woods and Malone left early the next morning. Roxton had gone off loaded down with guns and provisions the day of the argument and, after telling Summerlee in confidence what had happened and that he would be gone for a day or two, had remained away for the next two nights. The atmosphere at the treehouse was tense; the feeling that something was about to happen was common to all those who were still there. Summerlee, especially, being privy to recent events of which the others were unaware, was very anxious. So that when Roxton arrived at the treehouse, Summerlee was already watching for him on the terrace, and greeted him warmly upon his entrance. The younger man did not look well. The happiness he had radiated so recently was nowhere to be seen; he had reverted to the tough, sullen, angry adventurer that he had been when he first joined them. Summerlee was starting to despair of Roxton and Marguerite ever overcoming their pride and the hurdles that lay between them and happiness.

The four of them had just sat down to have lunch when the sound of the elevator being operated was heard. It was Malone. But he was in a very different condition than when he left. He had apparently suffered a head wound, around which he had tied a makeshift bandage, fashioned from a strip of cloth torn from his shirt. It had begun to bleed heavily again. He also had some deep gashes on his forearm. His weapons and bag of provisions were gone. 

"Ned - what happened to you?" cried Veronica, rushing over to him and wrapping her arms around him, helping to support him as he made his way slowly to a seat. 

"Are you all right, man?" demanded Challenger, rushing to offer him a glass of brandy from their store.

"It was Woods. He's not an explorer, he's a crook. He caught me by surprise - I tried to fight him off, but he hit me with the butt of his gun … knocked me out, stole everything I had …" Ned's voice was very weak. Veronica brushed back a lock of hair from his forehead.

"Where's Marguerite?" interrupted Roxton in a voice as hard as stone.

"I don't know … I don't know where they … "

"**_You don't know_**?" He grabbed Malone by the collar and roughly pulled him up to eye level. "You left her alone with that … that … You didn't go after them?!" He was enraged.

"Let go, Roxton," cried Veronica, upset, pulling at his arm.

"Let go of him, for God's sake!" cried Summerlee. "What choice did he have?"

"What could I have done," Malone asked, near tears in his weakened state. "I had been out cold, I had no weapon, no idea where they had gone …"

"If anything happens to her, I'll kill you," said Roxton grimly, already grabbing his rifle and running toward the door.

"Well, what about you?" Malone defensively cried after him. "If you felt he couldn't be trusted, why did you let her go? Where were you - off sulking? Obviously, something regarding Marguerite just didn't go your way, and with you, Roxton, it's always _your_ way or _no_ way! You're as stubborn as she is! Why didn't you follow us, if you're such a brilliant tracker?! _If you love her, **why didn't you protect her?"**_

Roxton, his back toward them and already halfway to the elevator, stopped short. They heard the sharp hiss of his indrawn breath, and then his shoulders sagged. "You're right," he said in a voice that was barely audible. "I was so angry. I gave her an ultimatum and that was a mistake. You can't put somebody else's feelings under a deadline. I should have …"

"We're wasting time. Let's get going. We'll get her back, Roxton, don't worry. Let's go! Summerlee, you stay here and take care of Malone."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

They had been tracking Marguerite and Woods at a rapid pace all afternoon and night was starting to fall. 

"We camp here," stated Challenger, looking around the small clearing in which they found themselves.

"Come on, Challenger! We need to keep going! Marguerite is in real trouble! How can you think about stopping?" said Roxton, his voice tinged with urgency.

"Roxton, don't be a fool. It's too dangerous to travel at night, you know that."

"We're in less danger than Marguerite is, Challenger! Every minute counts, for God's sake! We're not stopping! We'll keep going until we find her."

"We can't help her if we're all dead … " argued Challenger, but Veronica gestured to him to be quiet. She walked over to Roxton, who was clearly ready to continue alone if he had to, and placed a comforting hand on his arm.

"Roxton, listen to me," she said soothingly. " We're all worried about Marguerite … but you know we can't travel at night. And Marguerite is a fighter; she knows how to take care of herself."

"So I've been told," said Roxton wryly. "But, Veronica, she could be … could be …" he persisted urgently. "Oh, God, why didn't I go with her?"

Veronica stopped him. "Roxton. I know what you're thinking. And if … if anything like … like … uh … _that_ is going to happen, chances are, well, that it already has." Roxton stiffened at her words. "I'm sorry, but it's the truth. We need to rest and eat something so we'll be at our best when we find her, and, I promise, we'll start out again just before dawn tomorrow. Right, Challenger?" she glanced pointedly at him, and Challenger agreed, giving the blonde a silent 'thank you', and they proceeded to make camp.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It was late the next afternoon when they finally located Woods' camp. He had apparently not thought it necessary to travel rapidly once he had gotten Malone out of the way. Roxton and Veronica were crouched behind the bushes that fronted the camp, while Challenger covered the back. Just before they broke cover, Veronica glanced sideways at Roxton's face; it was devoid of all emotion and as grim as death. She shuddered, glad that she was on his side, and knew without a doubt that if any harm had come to Marguerite, Woods would not survive the day.

They found Woods outside his tent. He had heard them approach and came out, holding a gun in one hand, and the other supporting an unconscious Marguerite, using her limp body to shield his own. Red hot rage surged through Roxton at the sight of the woman he loved; she was dressed only in her camisole and her muddied skirt, her feet were bare, and her hair streamed about wildly. She, who was usually so fastidious, was now filthy. Her face looked awful. It was swollen and bruised, one eye was blackened and her lip was bleeding. He could also see ugly bruising along her neckline and arms. To his vengeful satisfaction, however, he noticed that Woods' face was marred by deep scratches on either side and that _both_ of _his_ eyes were black. Aiming his gun, Roxton screamed out hoarsely,

"You bastard! Let her go, you goddamn coward!"

Woods grinned at him. 

"I'd think twice about pointing a gun at me, Roxton. I have your woman here," Woods gave an obscene little snicker and said, "or should I say I've **_had_** your woman?"

Roxton was frantic, almost out of his mind, and it barely registered with him when Challenger appeared silently behind Woods, aiming a gun at Woods' head. Challenger was unable to fire right away, however, for fear of the bullet passing through Woods and wounding Marguerite. The awful scene began to have to have a hallucinatory effect on Roxton's overtired mind. It was too ghoulishly reminiscent of the tragic incident involving his brother that still burdened him heavily. He shuddered and groaned, his hand holding the gun starting to shake, as the figures of Marguerite and Woods slowly changed, in **_his_** eyes, into the forms of a great ape and his own brother, whom he had … had murdered. All of a sudden, Woods stumbled and Marguerite's upper body drooped momentarily, giving Challenger a clear shot; Challenger's finger moved on his trigger. With a wild cry of despair, Roxton watched as Challenger seemed to him to turn into a younger Roxton, standing his target. As his other self made ready to fire, Roxton rasped, "NO …oh, no … **_not again_**!" and fired his own gun at the apparition. As he did so, he heard Veronica scream his name, and then he blacked out and fell to the ground.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The journey back to the treehouse could not begin until two days later. Luckily, Roxton's hand had been trembling badly enough so that his shot had only grazed Challenger's shoulder superficially, but Marguerite was exhausted. She had been badly frightened, although she would not admit it, and through a terrible experience; she had eaten almost nothing since leaving the treehouse. Despite her insistence that she was able to travel immediately, it was not to be considered. The others got around this by having Challenger take her aside and explain that while he did understand that she herself was able to travel, Roxton and Veronica had been through a lot and needed some recovery time; Marguerite ungraciously acquiesced. She slept heavily almost the entire two days, with Roxton sitting patiently at the side of her bed. Veronica relieved him occasionally so that he also could get some sleep, but nightmares made his rest fitful and broken. 

Roxton had apologized sincerely to Challenger for injuring him without revealing that he had been under a delusion that he was preventing the shooting of his brother. He realized how insane that would have sounded. He felt that Marguerite was the only one in whom he could confide what he had gone through, the intense fear and guilt that had caused such a hallucination, but, of course, that conversation would have to wait. He simply told Challenger that he had missed his target.

The men buried Woods' body only to prevent it from attracting predators. Roxton would have been content to let it lie where it had fallen until it rotted away. 

No one discussed Marguerite's time with Woods, either directly with her or with each other. No one really wanted to know whether what Woods implied he had done to her was true or not. Marguerite would never tell them anyway. 

It was a quiet journey back to the treehouse. When they arrived, they found Summerlee and Ned, who was back to his normal healthy condition, anxiously awaiting them, and ready to welcome them home. Summerlee fussed over and treated Marguerite's cuts and bruises, and Challenger's shoulder, without asking any questions. It wasn't long before things appeared to be back to normal, at least on the surface.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Roxton, however, grew more worried about Marguerite. She was acting, for the most part, no differently than before her misadventure, but she had avoided Roxton's increasingly urgent attempts to speak to her alone. At last, after they had been back almost a week, Roxton lost patience, and, as Marguerite left one morning with Challenger to do some scouting, Roxton followed them outside. He called after them and when they stopped to allow him to catch up, he bluntly asked Challenger to leave them for a moment. When Challenger complied, Marguerite looked at him with an annoyed expression and demanded,

"What do you want, John?"

"Marguerite, I want to talk to you. Don't you think we need to talk about everything that …"

"NO."

" I mean, about you and me …"

"NO."

Exasperated by her total unwillingness to communicate, Roxton grabbed her by the shoulders. She immediately paled and let out a small, involuntary cry, flinching away from him. "Oh, God. Marguerite, I'm sorry … what a stupid thing for me to do."

"No, no, it's ok," she reassured him, waving her hand dismissively. "I guess I'm still just a little jumpy," she added apologetically. "And," she sighed, "I guess we do need to talk. I owe you an apology, you were right about Woods. I was sure I could manage," and gave a short, unpleasant laugh.

"There has never been a time when I've wanted so badly to be wrong," said Roxton, stroking her cheek gently. When she didn't pull away, but instead took his hand and kissed it, her eyes closed, he was encouraged. He tilted her chin up and slowly lowered his mouth to hers. He heard her gasp, sensed her hesitation, and then felt the delicious sensation of her tongue as it skimmed over his lips until he opened his mouth. Involuntarily, his arms tightened around her, but she didn't object. In fact, Marguerite realized that, since things with Woods had turned bad, this was the first time that she felt safe. Absolutely, perfectly safe and protected. It felt wonderful. Laughing in relief, she squeezed Roxton tightly and showered his face with affectionate little kisses. Roxton looked surprised; it was not a very Marguerite-like gesture. 

"I have to go … " Marguerite whispered regretfully. "Challenger's waiting for me."

"Let him wait," said Roxton roughly, nuzzling her neck and raising his hand to her breast. She could feel him hardening against her as she pressed closer, grinding herself into him.

"Now, John, would I do anything so selfish?" she taunted him. "Come to my room tonight … and maybe I'lleven let you in … " laughing, she ran off to find Challenger.

Roxton, turned on as he was even from that brief contact, smiled and shrugged his shoulders - it was so good to see her old spirit back, even if he _was_ going to have to take a cold swim before he could decently do anything else.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Roxton remained in a fever of impatience the rest of that day and evening. Thoughts of the last time he had spent the night in Marguerite's room distracted him from his work, his conversation, his dinner, from everything … except from her. At one point, she had been relaxing in a chair, reading, and felt his wolf-like gaze on her; she had looked up at him from under coal-black lashes and her pink tongue had darted out to moisten her lips. He had to abruptly leave the room. Silently cursing, he remembered all too well the feel of that same tongue in his open mouth, and between his thighs. Marguerite had smiled in a self-satisfied way and gone back to her book, but Roxton knew she was not as unaffected as she pretended. He knew her better than anybody else. He was in for a hell of a night.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

She was wearing nothing but her mauve silk robe when she opened the door to him late that night; it was not fastened. He could see the smooth valley between her breasts, her flat stomach, and the shadowed triangle between her legs. He took a deep breath.

"Oh, Jesus, Marguerite."

She looked up at him, her eyes a smoldering gray, and took his face in her hands. She felt him shiver at her touch, and heard his breath catch, and she kissed him. He did not close his eyes; he wanted her beautiful face in his sight always. Her hands traveled down his shoulders and onto his bare chest, then slid sensuously around to scratch lightly at his lower back. She bit his lower lip gently.

"Come to bed, Roxton?"

"I think you've convinced me," he muttered, and, pushing the robe from her shoulders, left it in a silken puddle on the floor. He picked her up effortlessly - she was so slim - and carried her to the bed. He never wanted to be without the feel of her skin against his again.

"Come on," she urged him, "let's go, Roxton, you know I hate to wait … "

"I'm not much of a one for waiting myself," he gasped, tearing off his pants … and then he was with her again at last, just where he wanted to be. "Are you sure you're OK, Marguerite?' he breathed.

"Mmmmm … Roxton …"

"I mean, after …."

"I _know_ what you mean," she snapped impatiently. "Now are you going to keep talking or …"

"Shut up, Marguerite," he ordered and kissed her into silence. "I love you." He turned her from her side onto her back and lay on top of her. He could feel the points of her nipples hard against his chest, and he brought his mouth down to taste them. She was trembling with pleasure, trying to keep from moaning aloud, and pressing his head against her breast. He kissed his way slowly down her body, her hands tangled in his thick hair, and then raised himself above her.

"Open your legs for me, sweetheart." And when she did, he traced the delicate skin of her inner thighs with his hungry mouth until he reached her center. He kissed her there, and lapped roughly at her, until she was shuddering with desire for him.

"Now … NOW, damn you," commanded Marguerite, as imperious as ever, her nails raking his back, and Roxton, ramming himself into her over and over again, was only too happy to obey.

They spent the next hours alternately making love, quarreling in whispers, and dozing. No matter which of these activities they were engaged in, Roxton did not let Marguerite out of his arms for more than a minute.

Finally, Roxton initiated the conversation that he would not allow Marguerite to avoid any longer. He had done a lot of thinking over the last week or so. He knew now that each hour with this quicksilver woman was a gift - a gift he had almost lost forever, a gift not to be wasted by quibbling over terms and conditions and tests. After he had shot his brother, Roxton, guilt riding him heavily, had often thought it would be better if he were dead. Now he thanked God he was not. He had remained alive to love Marguerite, to bring her heart in from the cold.

"Marguerite," he said firmly, "about those things I said to you," one of his hands remained warmly nestled between her legs, the other he used to pet and play with her long hair strewn over the pillow. He smiled to himself at her sigh of irritation, she would never be the type for sharing secrets of the soul! But he persisted," I want you to understand … "

"Look, Roxton, you don't have to say those things."

"I meant every word. I do love you very much, but I shouldn't have given you an ultimatum that way. You don't have to prove yourself to me on demand. I don't want to scare you off, after all," only half-joking. "I can't expect you to stop being the independent, stubborn, maddening, avaricious … "

"That's enough, John." Marguerite rolled her eyes. "You really know how to flatter a girl." They both laughed softly.

Then Roxton, all at once serious, caressed her face and said quietly," Marguerite, I want to know … Woods … did he … did he …" There was so much protectiveness, so much emotion surging through his heart, that Roxton actually felt tears gathering in his eyes.

"John, I'm not going to answer you. I don't want to talk about what happened, with you or anybody. What would be the point?"

Roxton took a deep breath. "If he … he …did anything to you, if he touched you, and now this is hard for you … "

"_Is_ it hard for me? Let's see," she attempted to divert him, reaching her hand downwards.

"Marguerite, stop it. I need to know if what we're doing is in any way uncomfortable for you."

"I'll tell you," she promised. "Look, I did whatever I needed to do to stay alive. What that was doesn't matter. I came back, _that's_ all that matters. I didn't change. **_I_ _didn't change_**," she said deliberately.

Roxton could tell that that was all he was going to get out of her. And for now, that was enough.

Later, as dawn was breaking, Marguerite gazed thoughtfully down at the face of her sleeping lover. He was breathing evenly, his features relaxed, one hand snuggled beneath the pillow. She allowed herself a tiny smile at the sight. Then she took a deep breath, and whispered softly in his ear, knowing he wasn't awake to hear her, 

"I love you too."

Roxton opened his eyes.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Professor Arthur Summerlee was awakened rather unceremoniously that morning by a decidedly undignified but joyous whoop coming from the room next to his, in the voice of Lord John Roxton, peer of England. The whoop was followed by unrestrained peals of laughter, and an exultant cry of, "I knew it! I knew it!" Then, the outraged shrieks of Lord Roxton's chosen lady: "You rat! You bastard! I take it back! I take back every word!"

Summerlee smiled indulgently to himself, turned over, and tried to get back to sleep. It was still early in the day.

****

END


End file.
